Trust, Truths, and Other Troubling Matters
by Brooke117211
Summary: "It should not have taken me this long." Even before Merlin finished his sentence, he could see the truth settling on Arthur's face. It was like the pieces of the puzzle were finally falling into place; the riddle that was Merlin finally made sense. And yet, it made no sense at all. No slash, spoilers for seasons 4 and 5.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello, everyone. I'm a bit new here, so if I make any mistakes, please bear with me ^^

Warnings: Spoilers for season 4 and season 5

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.

* * *

Gwen sat patiently at the council room table as the nobles discussed food provisions and war strategies.

"Discussed" was probably not the most accurate expression. It seemed far too pleasant a word. The bickering men closer resembled a pack of wolves, fighting over a piece of meat.

Gwen fought the urge to sigh. It was her obligation as queen to show support for her husband, which meant accompanying him on his daily duties as the king of Camelot. More so than obligation, Gwen endured the quarreling men's rants out of sympathy for her husband. She knew that her presence alone made things easier on him, as he had stated so many times before. So, if sitting in this uncomfortable heat made the day more bearable for Arthur, she would do so without hesitation.

Even if that meant suffering through a drawn-out council meeting that was going nowhere.

"We need to focus our efforts on sending out provisions to the people." Lord Orrick, one of the oldest nobles there, had been relatively quiet throughout the meeting. Gwen had decided he'd been her favorite, as he was not so quick-tempered as the others. "The attack has left many without homes. They need support to find their bearings if they are to survive the upcoming winter."

Lord Litwin, one who was_ not_ blessed with Lord Orrick's calm composure, spoke next. "No, our focus should be on finding the witch. Who knows when she'll strike next?"

Gwen winced. A sudden nervousness had overcome her, as it often did when Morgana was involved.

_That's right,_ she thought. _She's the reason we're in this mess to begin with._

Two days ago, Morgana had, once again, staged an attack on Camelot. The damage she inflicted was unlike anything Morgana had ever attempted before. Large cracks currently decorated the castle walls, and homes in the outer city were swallowed whole when the earth itself split open. And, once again, Arthur was left to face the consequences of her actions.

Looking to her left, Gwen spared a glance at her husband.

Arthur sat next to her, at the head of the table. He was bent over slightly in his seat, one hand partially covering his face while the other rested on the arm of his chair. His eyebrows were furrowed, and his gaze seemed distant.

Despite the severity of the conversation at hand, Gwen could tell he'd only been half paying attention. He'd been quiet—detached, even. One might think, given the circumstances of recent events, the young king was simply taking his advisors' opinions into careful consideration, but Gwen knew better. She, of all people, would know, being around him more than anyone.

Arthur had been like this for weeks now.

Yes, Arthur's strange behavior began many days _before_ Morgana's attack on Camelot. It started when an old man had appeared in front of the court with news of a great ally. An ally who, apparently, had been protecting Camelot and her inhabitants for years.

He'd spoken of a man named Emrys.

* * *

_It had been a fairly average morning in Camelot. The quiet of the night was soon overtaken by the busy workings of peasants in the lower town. Servants bustled through their daily chores, ready to finish another day's workload._

_In the Great Hall, the king and queen of Camelot sat on their thrones, poised and ready to take on any new challenge the day may bring._

_It was one of their many diplomatic duties to meet with informants who had knowledge of a possible threat to the kingdom. Many might think this was a daunting task, but Gwen was inclined to disagree. On most days, the only informants they met with wanted nothing more than to report a fairly trivial matter, such as a wild boar causing minor skirmishes in the outer villages._

_Later, Gwen would admit that she had said _most days, _not _all_._

_Half way through the hearings, Sir Leon entered the Hall. With a few long strides he'd met the two monarchs at their feet with a courteous bow._

"_My lord, my lady," both nodded their acknowledgement to the knight. "There is a man here who requests conference with the king."_

"_Very well," with a wave of his hand, Arthur dismissed Leon. "Send him in." _

_The man who entered after Leon's departure was not what the royals had expected, if the previous informants were anything to go by. He stood before them adorned in earthy robes that pooled at the bottoms of his feet. His long, white beard and wrinkled face revealed the many decades of life he'd experienced. A staff rested lightly in his hands, and its crooked yet oddly gracious nature resembled that of its owner._

_After a deep bow, and a gaze Gwen decided could stop any man in his tracks, the messenger spoke. _

"_My name is Kealen. I come bearing information of a great ally to Camelot. One that has gone unnoticed for far too long."_

"_An ally?" Arthur spoke then, his voice rich with uncertainty. "I don't know what you have heard, or who your informants are, but I oversee all of Camelot's transactions and treaties with foreign nations. If one of them were to wish for an alliance of some sort, I would surely know it."_

"_You misunderstand, King Arthur. It is not a nation I speak of, or any group of people for that matter," the messenger paused briefly, searching Arthur's face, "but a single man."_

_Arthur's expression must have been riddled with doubt, for disbelief imbued the tone of his voice. "One man? I hardly see how a single man could have an effect as severe as you claim." _

"_However unlikely it may sound, Arthur Pendragon, I assure you it is true."_

_Next to her, Gwen heard her husband sigh. She couldn't blame his hesitation; something about this man didn't settle right. _

"_All right, old man," there was a mixture of curiosity and impatience in Arthur's voice. "I will hear you out. Who is this great ally you speak of?"_

"_His coming was predetermined ages ago, through prophecies as old as the dragons themselves." The sudden resolve in the man's words caught Gwen off guard. "He is destined to aid the Once and Future King in reuniting the land of Albion."_

_As if there wasn't already enough about this man that completely baffled Gwen._

"_Prophecies?" Arthur repeated slowly, the suspicion in his tone tripling within seconds._

_Out of the corner of her eye, Gwen noticed Merlin squirming in his place next to the other servants. She couldn't blame him. She didn't like where this was heading, either. For if this messenger spoke of prophecies, there was not much doubt left to wonder who he was._

_Arthur came to the conclusion at the same time she did._

"_You are a druid." It was not a question, but a statement. In response, Kealen gave a single nod of confirmation._

_Though the man's boldness amazed Gwen, she supposed it was not all that strange for a druid to come to court, given recent events. Shortly after she'd become queen, Gwen had been surprised to learn that Arthur had revised Camelot's laws involving the treatment of the druidic people. Arthur had stopped considering the druids harmful, and even accepted and allowed their presence along the outskirts of Camelot. They were not only to be tolerated, but given aid as well, should they request it._

_The change of heart had astonished Gwen, but she fully supported her husband's decision. As she understood it, Arthur had promised peace with the druids after an incident that—to Gwen's horror—involved her brother, Elyan. The whole thing was quite confusing, but due to the fact that she'd been banished at the time of these events, Gwen decided she wouldn't push Arthur very far for the details. _

_Still, while the relations with the druids had no doubt improved, direct interactions had been fairly minimal as of late._

Well,_ Gwen thought, _until just now.

_Arthur, who had been at a loss for words, finally spoke. "Look…" he started slowly, as if talking to a child, "I appreciate your effort. You truly seem to care about the well being of our people. But I cannot build the hope of my kingdom based on fairy tales—"_

"_These are no fairy tales I speak of, King Arthur. The man of prophecies has many names, though the most well known is one we druids have carried with us for decades." For a moment, Gwen saw the druid's eyes shift to his right, towards where the servants stood at the edge of the Hall. Then, he brought his gaze back to Arthur, and with a look of certainty, he spoke. "He is a warlock by the name of Emrys."_

_Silence engulfed the room. All eyes turned to the king, pensively awaiting his reaction._

"…_A warlock? You mean a sorcerer?" All attempts at humoring the old man had drained from Arthur's mind. "Despite the truce between the druids, magic is still banned in Camelot. This is dangerous ground you tread on, old man." _

"_And yet, I still find it imperative that I do."_

_The two stared at one another for several, very lengthy moments. Finally, the druid broke the silence. "Believe what you will. The truth remains the same."_

_Arthur gave him a hard look. "Let's say for a moment that I believe your tale. Why has this supposed sorcerer not shown himself?"_

"_Do you honestly think it's that simple?" For the first time since she laid eyes on the old man, Gwen saw a pained look on his face. "You yourself cannot deny the immediate reaction you produce with a single _utterance_ of the word 'magic' or 'sorcerer'. Every day, Emrys protects you. And every day, he watches you make no attempts at the peace he longs for. I have come here today, Arthur Pendragon, to warn you. Emrys is devoted to you now, but if you do not take the steps to meet him half-way, his faith in you may one day run out."_

_With that, the old druid gave a final bow, and left the Great Hall._

_The rest of the day passed rather quickly. Word got around fast, as Gwen heard the tentative whispers of gossiping servants at every turn she made. She tried to make out Arthur's reaction to Kaelen's warning, but he'd been (deceivingly) stoic for the remainder of the day. The king kept his composure until later that night, when he was in the safety of his chambers. _

"_The man is mad, Guinevere." Arthur paced in front of her, stomping back and forth across the floor._

"_I never claimed otherwise," she replied calmly to her king._

"_What am I supposed to do with that information? What exactly does he expect me to do, make a public request to meet with a known sorcerer? There is no doubt about it, the man is completely insane."_

_Gwen gave Arthur a leveled look. "Then why does it seem like you're asking for my agreement?"_

_Arthur looked at her then, his eyes inquisitive. "Well… don't you?"_

_Gwen sighed. "I honestly don't know, Arthur." She glanced at her husband, taking in his defeated stance. "But neither do you. You would not be asking for my opinion if you did."_

_He put his head in his hands then, which muffled his voice when he spoke. "I don't know what to do, Guinevere."_

_Gwen frowned. "There's something you're not telling me, isn't there?"_

_Guiltily, he lifted his face from his hands. "I've heard the name before." At her confused expression, Arthur clarified. "Emrys. I've heard of him… from Morgana. She made it sound like he was protecting me. But at the time, I'd never heard of him, so I dismissed it as just one of her ramblings. And that's not all of it…"_

_Arthur looked at his wife for any signs of disapproval, but he was met with just a supportive nod for him to continue. _

"_Gaius has also implied that he knows of sorcerers who show support for Camelot."_

_Seeing the king's uncertainty, Gwen crossed the room and rested her hand on his shoulder. "Whatever you decide, Arthur, I am with you. I believe in your judgment completely." _

_He sighed, smiling weakly as he did so. "That makes one of us." _

* * *

"Don't you agree, Sire?"

Blinking out of his thoughts, Arthur refocused his attention to the man who sat across from him.

"Hmm? What?" His face quickly turned pink in embarrassment. "Oh—yes, of course. Thank you, Lord Orrick."

Arthur suppressed a sigh. He really needed to stop this. It was starting to affect his duties as king.

All of this worrying, over a sorcerer.

After the druid had appeared in court, Arthur's fundamental beliefs—ones he thought he would never have to question—were completely thrown.

After his talk with Gwen, Arthur decided he must ignore his past prejudices, and seek this Emrys person out. If there was truly a man such as Kealen claimed—sorcerer or not—then he deserved to be recognized for his bravery. There was just one problem… Emrys was proving bloody difficult to find.

Arthur had started out in the Royal Library, searching through the labyrinth of bookcases for any clue on the sorcerer's whereabouts. No luck. He'd asked Geoffrey if he'd ever heard of such prophecies, but Uther had destroyed any and all things magic-related during the Great Purge. Arthur had even consulted Gaius, sure that the man would have heard_ something_ about a centuries-old prophecy. No luck there, either. The old physician was rather odd about it, in fact.

After a few weeks of getting absolutely nowhere, Arthur had resorted to traveling to a nearby druid camp. They, of course, had been no help whatsoever. The druids were as secretive and confusing as always, speaking in riddles that Arthur had no patience for.

Days of searching went on, with nothing to speak for.

Arthur had begun to think that it was for the best. He wasn't even sure he wanted to find him. If Emrys were found—if he proved to actually exist—then Arthur would have to truly reconsider the laws on sorcery. Twenty years of his father's life went into purging sorcery from the lands. It felt like a betrayal to consider reversing everything he'd worked for.

Just when Arthur was ready to dismiss Keanen as senile, and erase Emrys's name from his mind for good, everything changed.

It was the day Morgana attacked Camelot. And the day that Arthur met Emrys.

* * *

A/N: Woot! First chapter is done! This is my first story, so feedback would be lovely ;)


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hello again. Thanks for the reviews, they're really appreciated. So the season 5 spoiler character shows up in this one. I realize he introduced himself to Arthur back in season 1, but for my story's sake, I'm going to pretend Arthur doesn't remember that particular detail. Which, really, isn't _too_ hard to believe, is it? What with all the things that man seems to forget in the actual show ;P

Another thing I might've forgotten to add—this story takes place a couple years after season 4 ended.

Alright, I'm done. Enjoy ;)

* * *

_Every direction Arthur looked, there was chaos. _

_Left and right, servants and peasants scattered, desperate to escape the turmoil that surrounded them. The ground shook beneath their feet, rendering their attempts of flight unsuccessful. Bits of the castle walls were starting to collapse, effectively taking down any poor soul who happened to be unlucky enough to get caught beneath the rubble. In certain areas of the lower town, the ground would even open up, swallowing innocent bystanders down into the earth._

_There was only one person Arthur knew who was capable of inflicting this kind of damage._

Really,_ he thought. _Does Morgana have nothing better to do than stage attacks on Camelot's defenses?

_Glancing to his left, Arthur saw Sir Leon and Sir Mordred running up to him. _

"_Sire!" Leon called out to him. "We've evacuated the majority of the lower town."_

_Arthur nodded. "Good. Do we have word of Morgana's location?"_

"_Not yet, Sire." It was the new recruit, Mordred, who spoke next._

_Arthur looked at him then, and, noticing his tense posture, placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't lose hope. We'll find her."_

_Though he was somewhat inexperienced, Arthur trusted the boy with his life. He had met the young knight on a hunting trip. Arthur was out alone—except for Merlin, of course, but he hardly counted—when bandits had ambushed him. It was rather odd, given that the king was so close to the castle, that the burly men would dare set foot around those parts._

_Right when Arthur thought he and Merlin were in serious danger of being taken hostage, Mordred had shown up out of nowhere, sword in hand, and helped him overpower the bandits. As it turned out, Mordred was headed towards the kingdom in order to request official training as a knight of Camelot. Arthur thought it would only be natural to reward his bravery by granting the daring boy's wish._

_It was almost comical how well the whole thing turned out._

_Coming back to the situation at hand, Arthur turned to Leon. "Do we have an idea how Morgana is doing this? I can't imagine her powers have grown this much since the last time we saw her."_

"_Yes. Gaius believes she is using some sort of artifact to channel her powers."_

_Arthur's eyebrows furrowed together. "Did he say where this object might be found?"_

"_He believes that it is located somewhere within the city—perhaps the castle itself—and that it would make sense to be close to the earth—buried or underground."_

_Arthur ran a hand through his hair. "Alright. You two continue as you were. I'm going to look for this artifact."_

_Leon bowed and hurried back towards the chaos behind him. Mordred, however, was not so quick to follow his king's orders._

"_Wait, Sire." The young knight seemed anxious, unwilling to let Arthur leave. "How will you look for it? The item could be anywhere."_

"_I'll search the tunnels below the castle first. It's the only place that fits Gaius's description."_

_Mordred's eyes narrowed, his shoulders tense. "That seems dangerous, Sire. You should be above ground, in the castle where it's safe—"_

"_I have to try something. My people are dying."_

_Seeing that Arthur would not back down, Mordred tried a new tactic. "At least allow me to accompany you. The king should not go unguarded in an attack such as this."_

"_No, Mordred. You need to return with Leon. There are still people out there who need your help."_

_For a moment, Arthur thought he saw the knight's face flash with anger. But in an instant, the expression was gone, replaced with a look of submission. "Of course, my lord." He bowed, and he was gone. _

_Arthur turned, and bolted for the castle. When he came across the tunnel entrance, he paused briefly, taking in the instability of the walls around him. The screams of servants echoed behind him, and a second later he began his descent into the darkness. _

_As Arthur made the climb down the stony staircase, he came to the conclusion that Morgana might've had help in this endeavor. Help from _inside_ Camelot. It would not be the first time a mole was planted by his half-sister in an attempt to destroy the kingdom._

_Shaking his head, Arthur returned to the task at hand. He didn't want to consider traitors at such a critical time. He didn't want to consider them at _any_ time. _

_Maneuvering through the tunnels proved difficult. After every shockwave, a chunk of the ceiling above him would break off and nearly take off Arthur's head. Right when he was about to deem his attempts useless and turn back, he saw a dim light coming from a room ahead of him. _

_Slowly, carefully, Arthur crept towards the room's entrance. _

_In the center of the dome-like room stood a staff that protruded from the ground. Its veined carvings glowed a greenish color, leaving no doubt about its magical origins. Just as Arthur stepped forward to further examine the artifact, he caught a movement from the corner of his eye._

_He was not alone._

_Stepping back, Arthur hid partially behind the room's arced entrance. A shadowy figure emerged from behind one of the pillars. He wore a dark cloak, effectively hiding his face beneath the fabric. Luckily, Arthur hadn't been spotted yet, so he continued to watch the stranger from afar. _

_The cloaked figure crept up to the glowing object. For a moment, Arthur thought he would do nothing but stare. Then, with an outstretched arm, he began to chant lightly in a whispered voice. Even with the distance between them, Arthur recognized it immediately as the Old Tongue. _

Magic._ Arthur's hand instinctively shot to his side, his grip held firmly around the hilt of his sword, but he made no move to apprehend the sorcerer. Instead, he waited. Since Arthur had the advantage—that is to say, since Arthur knew the whereabouts of the man in front of him, whereas the opposite could not be said—Arthur had assumed the man couldn't surprise him. He quickly learned that wasn't the case._

_The glowing light that had illuminated from the staff began to fade. The staff itself started cracking, splitting in two. The rumblings from the earth came to a complete stop, creating a silence that filled Arthur's heart with relief. He realized then that the sorcerer in front of him had been the cause—he'd stopped the earth shakes. But if the sorcerer had _stopped_ the destruction, instead of spurring it on, then… _

"_It's you." Arthur half sighed, half laughed his realization before he could stop himself._

_The sorcerer's hood whipped to the side, though it still covered the man's face. Arthur realized he'd have to correct his mistake quickly, or the sorcerer would disappear before he could get another word out._

_Just as he started off towards the other exit, Arthur called out to him. "Wait!" To Arthur's utter surprise, the man froze in place. "Please… wait."_

_Arthur swallowed. He hadn't expected to get this far._

"_You are Emrys, are you not?" The man gave no verbal response, but his shoulders tensed, which was good enough for Arthur. He knew that he must talk fast, if he intended to keep the man here for long._

"_I know that I have given you no reason to trust me." Arthur started slowly. "You have shown great loyalty today, and yet I have been stubborn, refusing to let go of my father's prejudices."_

_Arthur took a deep breath. "I have not given you the trust you deserve."_

_Ahead of him, Emrys still stood with his back to Arthur, completely unmoving._

_Arthur eyed him. He wondered briefly if he was making a mistake—talking with a sorcerer, practically pleading with him—but he suppressed the thought. He owed Emrys that much. "But I am willing, if you would let me, to make you a promise."_

"_I believe I am ready—if you'd give me the chance—to rebuild the relationship our people once had."_

_The weight of such a promise seemed to resonate against the room's walls, causing both the king and warlock to stand in silence for several moments._

"_It should not have taken me this long." Arthur's regretful remark was practically a whisper. "If you choose not to trust me, I understand. But I think you and I both know there is far too much at stake to let this hatred go on for any longer."_

_Once again, silence overtook the room. As Arthur awaited a response, he wondered if the man was still wary of him. He couldn't blame him; Camelot had been at war with sorcery for a very long time. Just as Arthur opened his mouth to try again, the sorcerer moved._

_The cloaked figure shifted, very hesitantly, so that the front of his body partially faced Arthur. His face, still hidden beneath the dark fabric, was unrecognizable. They stared at one another for a moment, and then Emrys inclined his head._

He's bowing to me,_ Arthur realized in amazement. _

_Arthur wasn't sure what to do next. He knew this moment was a momentous step forward—that many lives would be changed if Arthur carried out a truce with this man. But after so many years of being enemies… Arthur had trouble figuring out how to proceed._

"_Sire!" He heard a knight—Elyan, Arthur decided—call his name from the tunnel behind him._

"_I'm down here!" He shouted back into the darkness._

_When he turned around, Emrys was gone._

* * *

Arthur shut the door to his chambers behind him. It had been a long day in the council room, and he was glad to finally be done with the negotiations. Throughout the entire thing—hours of debating in that hot and musty room—Arthur couldn't focus one bit. While the other nobles spoke of relevant matters such as recovery tactics and food provisions, his mind was elsewhere. No matter what he did, it always wondered back to the same topic.

Magic.

Arthur hadn't told anyone about his meeting with Emrys. Not even Gwen. Partly because the sorcerer had yet to show any signs that he wanted to be found, and partly because he was still terrified of making such a life-altering change in Camelot. It was all he had ever been taught—to resent and reject the ways of sorcerers. His father had held that hatred inside of him until the day he died, and now Arthur was considering uprooting Uther's entire life's work.

Still, Arthur had made a promise that day to Emrys—one he still found to be fair and just—and the king of Camelot did not go back on his word.

The only problem was that Emrys never responded. After all that he said, all that he promised… nothing. Arthur hadn't heard a word out of the sorcerer's mouth.

Were his efforts not good enough?

* * *

Merlin sighed in relief as he finished polishing the last piece of Arthur's armor. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately—sighing.

It had been two days now since the attempted takeover. Normalcy in Camelot returned rather quickly to the kingdom. Merlin figured it was beginning to become something of a regular occurrence to the poor peasants, what with how often Morgana attacked the bloody place. Of course, Arthur hadn't hesitated in ordering Merlin to resume his daily chores, while he went off and did his kingly duties—or, as Merlin liked to put it, his prat-ly duties—which seemed to consist of ordering Merlin around. Go figure.

Despite his complaints, menial tasks were not the main source of Merlin's concern.

Shortly after Morgana's assault, Arthur called together the Round Table group to make an unofficial announcement that he suspected a mole inside of Camelot. He believed someone was aiding Morgana in her most recent attempts, and wanted only to inform his most trusted allies of this suspicion. Really, with all the evil plots that went on around the daft king's head, he was sure to figure something out _eventually._ Unfortunately, he was still oblivious to practically everything else.

Like the fact that the mole was currently a_ part_ of the Round Table group, thanks to Arthur.

Merlin knew Mordred was behind it. He knew from the very beginning that the deceiving "knight in training" was once a bitter little boy who promised revenge. The same could not be said for the king. Naturally, Arthur had forgotten all about the druid child they had saved almost a decade ago. Merlin supposed it wasn't _that_ odd, considering Arthur had only really met him once, and seeing as how he was ignoring a direct order from his father at the time, he probably wanted to erase the memory from his mind.

At first, Merlin wanted nothing more than to deny his suspicions. He had hoped Mordred's fabricated story had been the truth. He hoped that, for once, it was not all just a grand scheme to gain Arthur's trust. And he had hoped—above all else—that the rapidly growing affection Arthur felt towards the boy would not end once again in heartbreak and betrayal.

But he knew. He and Gaius had worked it out only a few short hours after Mordred's arrival in Camelot. Morgana and the boy formed an alliance against Arthur, and were constantly coming up with ways to bring him down.

And so began the evil glares and crooked smiles and Merlin's silent fight for his king.

He wanted so badly to tell Arthur. But past attempts in annoyingly similar situations told Merlin it would not at all go well. Arthur was quickly growing fond of Mordred—frighteningly so. He treated him as one would a brother, or even a son. Merlin knew from a painful list of experiences that telling Arthur of his loved one's betrayals _never_ went in Merlin's favor. And, of course, there was another reason Merlin couldn't say anything. Mordred _knew_. He knew what Merlin was—_who_ Merlin was—and that threat hung silently in the air around him.

So, as these things normally went, Merlin hid in the shadows, protecting Arthur from unrealized threats that he somehow always managed to thwart. As days turned into months of fending off Morgana and Mordred's attacks, Merlin grew weary. Weary of Mordred's smirks of triumph when Arthur scolded him for things _Mordred_ was responsible for. Weary of the brotherly affection that he had always hoped to receive from Arthur—directed towards a man who wanted his death. And weary of the truth that sat on the tip of his tongue like a bitter taste in his mouth. He had grown so weary, in fact, that Merlin had considered leaving Camelot—and the weight of his destiny—behind him. He would never do it, of course. The thought was just so tempting at times, and the constant torment of his enemies didn't help, either.

But then, that day came. The day when everything changed. The day that Arthur promised peace.

Albeit, Arthur didn't_ know_ he was talking to Merlin. But that didn't bother him much—it might've even relieved Merlin, if he thought about it.

No, the most important part about that day had nothing to do with Merlin's secret. It was about Arthur's destiny, and the future of Albion. It was about thousands of people like him—people who wanted nothing more than to express their abilities, and practice magic in the open.

That day, when Arthur had found him in the tunnels, Merlin thought it was over. The day had finally come for Arthur to discover his identity. What really happened shocked Merlin more than words could describe.

_I believe I am ready—if you'd give me the chance—to rebuild the relationship our people once had._

Merlin was… he didn't know what he was. Thrilled. Overcome with so many emotions he didn't know what to do with himself. Arthur's words meant so much to him—so much to so many people who have been suffering for over two decades.

And yet… he couldn't tell him. He didn't know _how._ After so many years of hiding, so many years of being _just Merlin_, how was he to go about revealing himself? So many lies went into that façade; he didn't know how to break it. What he and Arthur had—it was no perfect friendship, to say the least. But Merlin knew Arthur trusted him, though the prat would never admit it out loud.

The question was, could he risk it? In the end, there were only two outcomes. Either Arthur would accept him, or he would not. _More than likely, it would be the latter,_ thought Merlin sadly.

What Merlin didn't know was that Mordred would leave him with little choice in the matter.

* * *

A/N: So I do realize that my thought process is a little scatter-brained. I hope it wasn't to confusing for you all. Again, thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

The trotting of the horses' hooves echoed throughout the forest as Arthur's expedition continued to make their way through the foliage.

Mordred came to him earlier that day, claiming reports of several incidents along the outskirts of Camelot's borders. Bandits had apparently been causing trouble around these parts, harassing any innocents they could get their slimy hands on. Arthur decided he'd have to put a stop to it.

All of the reports claimed the bandits' numbers were few, so Arthur hadn't worried about bringing too large a group. He had with him a few of the knights, including Mordred, as well as Merlin—because really, when was the last time he had left the clumsy idiot behind? He had decided to bring Mordred along, as it seemed a perfect situation to test his training. He'd been improving steadily since his arrival in Camelot, and Arthur could now say without a doubt that the young knight could possibly be one of his best. He had to admit, he was becoming rather fond of the boy.

Arthur's thoughts trailed back—as they often did, as of late—to his secret protector. It had been a few months since Morgana's assault, and in all of that time, he hadn't heard a single word from Emrys. Despite Arthur's attempts, the sorcerer had turned and run, and had not looked back since. Arthur was beginning to wonder if he should give up on him.

Sighing, Arthur glanced up at the sky. The clouds were grey—it would probably rain soon.

Arthur was pulled from his musings when, suddenly, an entire horde of men catapulted themselves out from behind the trees. They had on far too much armor and leather than any bandits should, but the weapons they held were just as brutal as Arthur had ever seen. The men were fierce, and there were far more than they'd anticipated. But this was no coincidence; it was too calculated. No, this was an ambush. As he and the knights defended themselves, Arthur thought there were almost too many of them to handle.

Almost.

Arthur—being the master of swordsmanship that he was—twisted his way out of one of his assailant's arms, slashing him from behind. He turned then towards what Arthur had assumed was the leader, and quickly advanced on him. In a matter of seconds, the burly man was on the ground. Arthur lifted his sword to finish the job, when a pain shot through his arm, forcing him to drop his sword. He'd been cut, he realized. Spinning around quickly, he faced his attacker—

No. Not again. Please, not again.

And there was Mordred—sword in hand, pointed straight at the king's throat. His eyes, wide in a sort of mad fury, were pinned on Arthur.

"Yield."

Arthur did nothing at the command. He did not move, did not breathe, did not _anything_ except stare.

"Yield!"

Arthur focused on steadying his breathing and ignoring the stinging sensation at the back of his eyes. Slowly, painfully, he sunk to the ground.

As he kneeled in front of Mordred, Arthur twisted his head around to get a look at his knights. They, too, had been captured. They were probably as stunned by the new revelation as he was. Arthur noticed a few of their faces. Leon looked on in disappointment. Gwaine tried to lunge at him, only to be pulled back violently by one of the armed men. Merlin—

Merlin wasn't looking at Mordred at all. He was looking at Arthur. For a moment, Arthur forgot about the current situation, all because of the somber look on his servant's face, which was directed straight at him. His eyes were glazed over, and the expression he wore was undoubtedly one full of pity. It was a look so intensely apologetic, Arthur had to blink several times to focus on the problem at hand, instead of the puzzle that was Merlin.

Turning back towards Mordred, Arthur finally spoke.

"So it's you. You're Morgana's mole."

Mordred smirked then, though his eyes still held the wild hatred they did earlier. "Well done, Arthur. Your observational skills are astounding."

Again, Arthur stayed silent. He was too preoccupied with his attempts at pushing down the feelings of hurt and betrayal at this new revelation. What stung perhaps the most of all, however, was the realization that these feelings were becoming more and more common as the days went by.

"What?" Mordred said, almost playfully, as he quirked his head to the side. "You aren't going to ask me why I'm doing this?"

"I'm fairly used to this situation by now, thanks." Arthur replied, toneless. He still was looking straight ahead at Mordred, but refused to meet his eyes.

"Ah, yes," the playfulness in his voice was darker now, full of hurtful intentions. "I've heard all about the loved-ones-turned-traitors you've somehow managed to collect. Tell me, how many have there been? It's quite the list, if I can remember them all."

When Arthur said nothing, Mordred took a step towards him, crouching down in front of him in an—unsuccessful—attempt to catch his gaze.

"Have you ever considered, _my lord_," he used the formality as more of an insult than anything else, "that there is not something wrong with the people _around_ you, but rather with you, yourself?"

Arthur winced. He _had_ considered it, actually. Many times, in fact.

In the distance, thunder boomed. Dark clouds began to creep into sight.

"Why are you doing this, Mordred?" Arthur had told the boy he didn't care about the answer to that question, which was true. He was too tired to care. Arthur just figured things would go faster if he did.

"Why?" Mordred repeated. As expected, the boy's voice got very dark. He took a few deep breaths before continuing.

"We've met before, you know." Finally, Arthur met Mordred's gaze. "Several times, in fact. You were just too preoccupied at the time to recognize me. Too busy slaughtering my family, and whatnot."

Arthur's eyelids flickered slightly, but he refused to let them blink, afraid that the wetness in them would spill over.

"Maybe you were jealous of loving families—ones that didn't constantly stab each other in the back—so you thought you had to compensate by killing them all."

The sky flashed, lightning shooting through the air above them.

Now it was Mordred's turn to fight away tears. Still, his gaze never left Arthur's. He leaned forward then, so that their faces were mere inches away. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.

"Do you really have to wonder why your loved ones turn their backs on you?"

Just as Arthur decided he couldn't take any more, a flicker split through the sky, striking a branch of the tree that Mordred stood under. In an instant, it was hurtling towards them, causing the two men to jump in separate directions.

Arthur was on his feet in an instant, thankful for the opening. It took him a second to process what had happened.

Lightning. Lightning had happened.

Just as Arthur was thanking the heavens for the incredible stroke of luck, another _crack_ shook the ground. This time, the white flash went straight for the armed men, effectively blasting them backwards and giving his knights the opportunity to escape their grasps.

"No!" Arthur spun around in time to see Mordred, furious and desperate, charge at him.

Before he could close the gap, the sky flashed once more, striking the ground between them.

Mordred knew when to quit. Grudgingly, he began his slow retreat backwards. As he did so, he sent a glare to someone standing behind Arthur—one of the knights, perhaps?

"Damn you."

Before Arthur could figure out the source of his anger, Mordred redirected his gaze at him. "Do you think there is _anyone_ in that godforsaken castle that is loyal to you? There is no one you can trust, Arthur. Nor anyone who can give you theirs." Mordred's voice was resigned, but as hateful as ever. "Even as Emrys protects you, he does so from the shadows, afraid of what the truth will cost him."

And with that, Mordred's eyes flashed gold, and he disappeared in a gust of wind.

* * *

It wasn't until later that night that Merlin dared knock on Arthur's chamber doors.

As soon as the patrol returned to Camelot, Arthur had locked himself in his chambers, refusing to answer anyone, not even Gwen. The queen had taken things as expected. Her eyes, at first defiant with denial, quickly grew sad and gleamed with tears. Her sadness then morphed into worry, as it often did with Gwen, when she realized the state her husband must be in. She tried to hoax him out of his room with sweet words and a comforting voice, but to no avail. In the end, she decided to leave him be.

He'd been in there for hours, the sun having already set and the moon sitting bright in the night's sky. Several moments after Merlin knocked, he still heard no sign of the king. In an attempt to muster up some form of courage, Merlin took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.

Arthur stood at his window with his back facing Merlin. He was clutching his right arm—the arm Mordred had injured during the fight. A few candles kept the room dimly lit.

"Your dinner, Sire." Merlin said, hesitantly. He set the tray down on the table, but Arthur made no move for it.

Merlin sighed. He couldn't leave things as they were. "You cannot take what Mordred said to heart, Arthur. There are so many people in this kingdom that care about you. You have to know that." When Arthur still said nothing, Merlin frowned.

_Damn it,_ thought Merlin. _Mordred really made a mess of things this time. _

Just as Merlin turned to leave, Arthur spoke.

"Can I trust no one, Merlin?" The pain in his tone made Merlin cringe. "Or should I be asking a different question? Rather, can no one trust me?"

"Why would you say that?" Merlin couldn't hide the disapproval in his voice. "You cannot blame yourself for the misguidances of others."

Arthur finally turned to face him. "Then why is it that every time I choose to trust someone—every time I think I know their intentions, they stab me in the back?" His eyes were wide, full of vulnerability one did not normally find in Arthur. "Tell me something, Merlin. Am I not trustworthy? Is there something about me that encourages the people I care about to turn their backs on me?"

"Don't say that. You have me." Merlin said with a weak smile, in an attempt to pull one from Arthur as well. It didn't work. He tried another tactic.

"And you have Emrys." At Arthur's scoff, Merlin continued. "Why else would a known sorcerer help you?"

"At this point, I don't even know if the man exists."

Merlin fumed at that. _Yes, you do, you bloody prat. You met me in the tunnels!_ But he knew he couldn't say that. As far as Merlin was aware, Arthur hadn't told anyone of that conversation.

"No. If Mordred was right about nothing else, he was right about that." Arthur was looking at the floor, so he missed the flash of anger that covered Merlin's face. "Even if he does exist, Emrys does not trust me. He would have revealed himself by now if he did."

"That's not true."

"It is."

"He trusts you with his life!" Merlin shouted in frustration before he could stop himself. Luckily, Arthur didn't notice the strangeness of his words.

"But not with the truth." Arthur said sadly.

Merlin, frustrated beyond belief, opened his mouth for a rebuttal, but nothing came out. The expression on his face slowly melted from irritation into desperation as he attempted to come up with something, some sort of contradiction to Arthur's statement.

But there was nothing.

Arthur watched Merlin's struggle in a pained silence. After a few seconds, he turned back towards the window, his head hunched down.

"You may go, Merlin." It was more of a demand than a dismissal.

Merlin stared. Arthur was wrong. He had to be. One didn't spend his life protecting a king that hated his kind simply on a whim. Merlin _did_ trust Arthur. He knew he did. It was just…

After Arthur talked to him in the tunnels that day, Merlin had convinced himself his silence was justified. _Not yet,_ he always told himself. _Arthur isn't ready. _But he couldn't say that anymore. Arthur had proven it that day with his promise of change. There was only one reason that kept him from telling Arthur the truth.

Fear.

He was afraid.

"You're right." The words escaped Merlin's lips before he even knew he was speaking. He didn't stop, though. He owed too much to Arthur to stop.

The king's words reverberated through Merlin's mind.

_You have shown great loyalty today, and yet I have been stubborn, refusing to let go of my father's prejudices. I have not given you the trust you deserve._

"He has not given you the trust you deserve."

When Arthur didn't move, Merlin continued. "You told him that you were afraid to let go of your father's hatred. But that's not true, Arthur. You proved it that day, when you gave Emrys your promise."

Arthur lifted his head then, still facing the window. His body grew very still.

"You gave him a promise—one that could not have been easy for you to make." Merlin swallowed. It felt like his heart was trying to jump out of his chest. "And yet, he ignored it. He did not give you the same trust that you gave him."

_I believe I am ready—if you'd give me the chance—to rebuild the relationship our people once had._

"But I believe he is ready—if you'd give him the chance—to rebuild the relationship your people once had."

Arthur's breathing was becoming unbalanced. He took deep breaths, trying to steady himself. Merlin wished he could see his face. Was it full of anger? Or perhaps it was the one he always wore when he was betrayed, full of shock and sadness.

_If you choose not to trust me, I understand. But I think you and I both know there is far too much at stake to let this hatred go on for any longer._

"If you choose not to trust him, I understand. But I think you and I both know," Arthur spun around then, eyes so intense that Merlin almost stopped, "there is far too much at stake to let this hatred go on for any longer."

Silence.

The couple stared at each other for what felt to Merlin like hours. Arthur, disbelief coloring his expression, and Merlin, nervous out of his mind, stood completely still, unsure how to proceed.

Finally, Arthur spoke. "How…" Arthur's eyes jumped around Merlin's face, trying to figure out what to say. "You know him—Emrys. You must. How else would you know about that meeting?"

Merlin said nothing.

"Answer me, Merlin!" There was a sternness in his voice that could only be attributed to that of a king. "Who told you about that conversation?"

With pleading blue eyes, Merlin told him.

"You did, Sire."

Merlin watched as his king—eyes wide in shock—took a step back, as if being shoved. He had only seen Arthur this astonished a handful of times, and none of those accounts were very happy ones. They usually ended in Arthur's extreme depression, forcing Merlin to cheer him up with a pep talk.

But Merlin could not save the king from himself now. Not this time.

"No…"

Arthur wanted to deny it. He wanted to call Merlin a liar, to tell him to stop fooling around, that this joke wasn't funny. But even Arthur couldn't deny the truth when—once again—his own words were thrown back in his face.

"_It should not have taken me this long."_

Even before Merlin finished his sentence, he could see the truth settling on Arthur's face. It was like the pieces of the puzzle were finally falling into place; the riddle that was Merlin finally made sense.

And yet, it made no sense at all.

"You can't be…"

But the guilt on Merlin's face said otherwise. There was a certain firmness to it, a silent plea that begged for Arthur's understanding.

"I am."

Silence engulfed the room once again. Merlin watched his king, waiting for the inevitable drawbacks of such a serious conversation. Right when Merlin thought he'd have to break the silence, Arthur spoke.

"You're lying."

Merlin's blood ran cold. This is what he'd been afraid of. Arthur had been betrayed so many times, stabbed in the back by people he thought were his allies. Had the reservoir of trust in Arthur's heart finally run dry?

"No, Arthur." Merlin's voice was filled with desperation. "No more lies. I swear—"

"You swear?" Arthur cut him off. "You _swear_? What good is the promise of a man who has lied to me for _years_?"

"I lied to _protect_ you, Arthur. You must realize that."

Arthur looked at him then, with a gaze so piercing and distraught that Merlin almost took a step back.

"You expect me to believe you?"

Merlin's eyes softened. "I want you to believe _in me,_ Arthur."

Arthur stood there, staring at his friend's—no, Arthur corrected himself—his servant's face.

"Show me."

Merlin blinked. His mind tried to process the implication of that demand. "W-what?"

"You are telling me, Merlin," Arthur started, slowly, "that you are Emrys. Is that correct?"

At Merlin's hesitant nod, Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Prove it."

Merlin felt his heart speed up. For a moment, he was completely at a loss. He knew what Arthur was asking, but after years of hiding in the shadows, years of making sure no one caught him in the act, Merlin wasn't sure he could do it. He pushed himself forward anyway.

Tentatively, Merlin began to walk towards Arthur. The king's eyes narrowed, but he made no move to stop him. When Merlin was merely a few feet away, he lifted his arm so it hovered over Arthur's. At the motion, Arthur's chin jerked upward—it was a warning, he realized.

The two stared at each other then, neither willing to release the other's gaze.

"_Þurhhæle dolgbenn."_

With the whispered spell came the familiar flash of gold, and a bright light that resonated from Merlin's palm. Arthur broke the gaze then, and turned his eyes to the glow that was now illuminating the room. The light was _floating_, he realized, and engulfed his whole upper arm. It took all of his strength not to push Merlin away. After it dimmed to nothingness, Arthur took a step back, not taking his eyes off of his arm. The cut that Mordred had made was no longer there.

Merlin stood, completely still. He didn't dare move. All he did was watch his king, who looked down at his arm like he'd never seen it before.

"Get out."

Merlin swallowed. "Arthur—"

"Get. Out."

Merlin tried to breathe, but found it too difficult. His eyes stung. With a pained bow, Merlin turned and left the room.

* * *

A/N: Aaand there it is. So, I know that reveal might've seemed a little too sudden for Merlin's tastes, but hey, Arthur was about to backtrack into his old nothing-good-comes-of-magic ways. He panicked, all right? ;P Thanks for reading. As always, reviews would be lovely.


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur stirred in his bed. The sun's blinding beams somehow managed to shine perfectly into his eyes, causing the king to wince. The lighting was a bit off, he realized. It was too bright in his room; it must have been noon, at least. Where the hell was that blundering idiot of a servant—

And just like that, Arthur's peaceful state of mind disappeared.

He sat up, quicker than his body was prepared for. Gods_,_ his head hurt. He'd been up half the night, pacing and fuming and practically pulling his hair out. When the first signs of dawn emerged in the dark sky, Arthur resigned himself to crawling into bed, defeated and unwilling to think any longer. But even the bliss that accompanied him during sleep had to go eventually.

Magic! Of all the bloody things… _magic?_

He always knew Merlin was a mystery. He knew the clumsy servant would prove to one day be more trouble than his worth. But he never in his wildest dreams would have expected this. Not only was he a sorcerer, but also a pretty powerful one, if all the hype about "Emrys" was anything to go by. And with that thought, Arthur was again thrown for a complete loop.

"Strong" was never a word that came to mind when thinking of Merlin. In fact, if one were asked to describe him, Arthur was sure the last thing on anyone's mind would be anything physically adept. It just didn't make sense. For what felt like the hundredth time in the past day, Arthur fumed.

Acting like an idiot. Tripping over nothing. That _annoyingly_ contagious grin. Was it all an act? If it was, Merlin had preformed brilliantly. It was deceitful. It was disloyal. It was downright treasonous! It—

It hurt.

Most of the pacing he did last night—the hours of cursing a man who wasn't even there—was his heart's own way to defend itself. It was trying desperately to deny. To deny his anger, his pain. To deny the fact that the scrawny servant had managed to have this kind of effect on him. He didn't want to admit it, but he had gotten close to Merlin during the years that he served him. There was something about his presence that always seemed permanent—comforting, even. Now, he had to question everything.

And it hurt.

Arthur sighed. He needed to stop. This inner turmoil was getting him nowhere. No, what Arthur needed now was the truth. The confused king had no clue what he'd do when he confronted Merlin—gods, it hurt to even _think_ his name. He might yell—even Arthur had to admit, that was very likely—and he might storm off. Hell, he might even banish him. Arthur had no idea. All he knew was that he needed to talk to his servant.

Swinging his legs off the bed, Arthur pushed himself to get ready. It wasn't like it was difficult to carry on with his daily activities without assistance—a running joke that Arthur was not amused with. It was just hard not to notice when something was missing, after years of constantly having it by your side. A certain black haired something, for instance.

Of course, it made perfect sense for Merlin to have not shown up this morning. Arthur had practically thrown him out of his chambers the night before, so the klutz of a servant would have been mad to knock on his door and act as if nothing happened. Still, as angry as he was, Arthur couldn't ignore the issue. If he didn't talk to Merlin soon, he felt like his head might explode. With a deep breath, Arthur headed out the door.

In the two minutes it took him to get down to Gaius's quarters, Arthur's tension had returned to him tenfold. So, as most situations dictated when his emotions got the best of him, Arthur steeled his face into a mask of apathy. He pushed the door open.

He was greeted with the familiar sight of Gaius's cluttered chambers. Glass vials littered the tabletops, and dusty books sat patiently atop every flat surface that was available. Gaius himself stood in the center, prodding at some sort of concoction he'd whipped up. When he noticed the young king standing in his doorway, he gestured for Arthur to come in.

"Sire," the old man gave a small bow. "Do you need something?"

"Yes, actually. I was wondering if Merlin were around."

Gaius frowned then, a worried look crossing his aged features. "That's strange. I was going to ask you the same thing. He never came home last night."

Arthur's brow furrowed at that. It was late when Merlin had come to him the night before. Arthur had assumed the man would've gone straight home after their discussion. Unless—

Unless… he left.

Obviously, the two of them didn't leave off on the best of terms. If it were any other person, any other man in the world, Arthur supposed a newly discovered sorcerer would run for his life. Pack his bags, leave Camelot, and never look back.

Suddenly, all of the anger he'd been trying to suppress boiled over.

He left! He ran like the coward he was! Instead of telling him the truth, instead of facing him like a man, he ran. Just like he did that day in the tunnels. Just like he did the past seven years.

With all of the remaining composure Arthur could manage to muster up, he nodded at the old physician and turned back towards the door. "Thank you, Gaius."

"But Sire—"

Arthur didn't stop. He didn't want to risk taking his anger out on the poor man, which would surely happen if he didn't calm down soon. As he strode across the room, Arthur felt another emotion playing havoc with his heart. It was a sad disappointment, one he'd grown rather accustomed to throughout the years of his life.

Regret.

But that couldn't be right. The king of Camelot did not feel regret because a traitorous servant decided to skip town. No, Arthur determined, it definitely was not regret.

Just as Arthur reached the door, something on the floor caught his eye. It was a familiar red, splattered haphazardly in streams of beady crimson. After leaning down to get a better look, the king called back to the old physician.

"Gaius," he started slowly, "did you have a patient in here earlier? An injured one, perhaps?"

Gaius frowned again, and headed towards the king. "No, Sire. Why do you ask?"

Arthur was afraid he would say that. As Gaius drew closer, and spotted the reddish liquid that covered the ground, he dismissed his previous question for another.

"Is that blood?"

Arthur swallowed. As if things weren't complicated enough.

* * *

As Merlin slowly crept back into consciousness, he realized a number of things at once.

One, his head hurt. A lot. The last time it felt this bad was when that Mercian assassin—who, of course, was out to kill Arthur—whacked him in the head a few months back. Merlin vaguely noticed a sticky substance trickling down his brow, but wasn't willing to assess the connotations of that realization.

Two, it was cold. He wasn't saying the room he had in Gaius's quarters was particularly warm and cozy, but it certainly beat sleeping out in the freezing night air. Which is what he felt like he was doing now.

And three, he was laying on what he undoubtedly recognized as the ground. Very rocky, uneven ground, to be exact. By piecing those three bits of information together, Merlin came to the conclusion that he was not in his cot at Gaius's. He wasn't even sure he was in Camelot at all.

_Where am I?_

Merlin hesitantly cracked his eyes open, afraid he wouldn't like what he'd find. He didn't. Cerulean eyes were met with the dark and damp surroundings of a dungeon cell. Merlin groaned internally, but kept surprisingly calm, despite the circumstances. After years of posing as a servant-slash-guardian sorcerer, Merlin had grown accustomed to waking up in horribly bleak situations.

_Still_, he thought as he sat up against the stony wall, _it would be nice if the bad guys gave me a break every now and again._

Merlin sat in silence, trying to recall the last bit of memory he had. He remembered his talk with Arthur—quite possibly the only thing that unnerved Merlin, at the moment—and then heading home afterwards. He even thought he recalled getting inside of Gaius's chambers when… nothing. Everything went black after that.

There was a horrible second when a possibility occurred to Merlin. Arthur had been upset, that much was certain. But despite Merlin's generally accomplished talent at reading his emotions, he couldn't tell just _how_ mad Arthur was.

Mad enough to knock him unconscious and lock him in the dungeons?

And in an instant, he dismissed the thought. One, it definitely wasn't Arthur's style. If the king truly couldn't accept Merlin, he would confront him personally. Ambushing him from behind would be too cowardly for Arthur's tastes. And two, Merlin could recognize Camelot's dungeons anywhere—having been thrown in them more than once—and these were unquestionably _not_ them. These cells were wrong. Rather, they_ felt_ wrong. Tiring, almost.

Which left the question at hand; where the hell was he? Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how he looked at it—Merlin didn't have to contemplate for long.

"Did you enjoy your nap, Merlin?"

Merlin froze. Of course, he could recognize her voice anywhere. She had been the foundation of his nightmares for a very long time now. He supposed he should be used to the snarky sneer in her voice, but it never did get any easier.

He looked up. Blue eyes met green.

"Or should I say… 'Emrys'?"

Morgana growled his alternate name with utter contempt. She looked at him as if she'd never seen him before, as if Merlin were a completely different entity. Which, in a way, Merlin thought, was true. She'd never truly seen him before today. Not really.

Suddenly, Merlin felt extremely vulnerable.

It's not as if he necessarily _enjoyed_ being underestimated, but even he had to admit that he probably wouldn't be alive if every person he came across didn't see him as a blundering fool. Now that Morgana saw him for what he truly was… well, Merlin wasn't exactly thrilled about being looked at like a prize. So, in response to her unsettling glare, he reached for his magic, anticipating the fight that would undoubtedly break out soon.

To Merlin's complete horror, he realized he couldn't.

He couldn't call his magic.

It was like reaching for a sword, only to discover you had no hand to grab it with. Merlin panicked. This had never happened before. Magic had always been a part of him—he could always feel the warmth it seemed to radiate throughout his body. And he still could feel it, just barely. He just… couldn't grab hold of it.

Seeing the alarmed look on Merlin's face, Morgana smirked.

"Don't bother trying to use magic. It's no use." She snaked her way to the side, taunting her ability to roam freely on the other side of the cell bars. "You see, the cage you're in is special, Merlin. I made it just for you."

Call him ungrateful, but Merlin really didn't appreciate the gift. Reluctantly, he glanced around the small room. For the most part, it looked like your average doom-and-gloom medieval dungeon. The exception was the markings—curvy patterns that snaked around the bars and walls, much like the witch that stood beyond them. The designs may have looked harmless enough to an untrained eye, but those who practiced the craft of the Old Religion would recognize the markings as anything but innocent.

Understanding his situation, Merlin sighed, resigned. "Congratulations, Morgana," he said, little enthusiasm in his voice. "You've finally managed to catch me. I'm a bit surprised it took you this long, to be honest."

When a flash of anger crossed Morgana's face, Merlin's eyebrows furrowed together. Why _did_ it take her this long? He'd assumed that Morgana had known about his other identity for months, back when he discovered Mordred and Morgana's alliance. Mordred would have surely told her by now. But the spark in her eyes told a different story.

"Don't tell me… he's only just told you who I am?" When Morgana's jaw clicked together with a _snap_, Merlin smirked. He didn't know what Mordred was playing at by keeping his secret for so long, but he knew better than to question it. Mordred had always been hard to read—sometimes Merlin thought he saw a genuine smile on his face when he practiced with Arthur. Merlin wondered if the boy even knew whose side he was on.

"That's funny. I'm pretty sure I've been Emrys this whole time." Perhaps taunting Morgana wasn't the smartest thing to do at the moment, but unfortunately for Merlin, his sarcasm and witty comments were his only weapons.

"I don't know why Mordred kept the truth from me," she started slowly, in a vain attempt to look unbothered. "But it hardly matters now. You see, Merlin, I've spent all of my time focusing on my idiot brother, when I should have been going after his precious guard dog." She spared a mocking glance at the captive warlock. In response, Merlin jeered right back.

"You figured that out all by yourself, Morgana? Well, not_ all_ by yourself, considering you needed Mordred to tell you who the 'guard dog' was. Still, I'm impressed. And it only took you five whole years—"

"Enough!"

At the demand, Merlin's mouth snapped shut. Despite what people liked to believe, he did have _some_ sense of self-preservation, however slight that sense may be.

"Don't you get it?" Morgana took a step closer to the cell bars. "Your king is defenseless! His shield has been taken from him," her voice lowered into a dangerous half-whisper, "and now he will be completely at my mercy."

When she saw the truth dawn on Merlin's face, her signature smirk returned.

"Don't worry, Merlin. I'll see to it that he doesn't suffer for _too_ long."

Satisfied, Morgana turned and strode out of the dungeons.

* * *

"He's missing?"

The queen of Camelot sat in her place at the Round Table, her shoulders tense in worry. She had her hand placed protectively over her chest, as if holding something dear within her grasp.

Minutes earlier, Gwen and the other knights had been called into an emergency meeting by none other than the king himself. Due to recent events, they all assumed it had something to do with the newly denounced knight of Camelot—whose name no one dared speak aloud.

Arthur had reacted badly to Mordred's betrayal. Gwen hadn't seen sight of him since he locked himself in his room the night before. Now, he sat next to her, his hand curled in a half-fist over his mouth. Even as he sat in his chair, he did so in silence. She hadn't known what to make of her husband's stoic manner. Her only guess was that it had something to do with Mordred, which, as it turned out, wasn't entirely true, either.

"We believe he was kidnapped, my lady." It was Gaius who spoke then. In fact, it was Gaius who had retold the events that had led to the current meeting. Arthur hadn't said a word.

"I don't understand, Gaius," the queen looked across the table where he stood on the opposite end. "Who would want to kidnap Merlin?"

To put it bluntly, Gwen was confused. Looking around the room, she realized—with some relief—that she wasn't the only one. Merlin was one of the sweetest people she knew. She couldn't think of a single soul in the castle that wanted to bring him harm.

Before Gaius could reply, a stern voice echoed throughout the room.

"Morgana."

It took Gwen a second to realize that her husband had been the one to speak—the first word she had heard out of his mouth in over a day. It took her a couple seconds longer to realize the implications to what he meant.

Yes, Gwen was completely and utterly confused.

Everyone in the room turned towards Arthur. The king had yet to look up from where he was staring angrily into space. There was definitely something wrong with him, Gwen decided. Only in very desperate situations had she seen him like this—so lost in thought and silent frustration. She wondered idly if the men in this castle would ever stop worrying her.

It was Leon who spoke the thought that hung in everyone's minds. "Morgana? No offense, Sire, but why would Morgana target Merlin, of all people? He's hardly worth much to her."

"On the contrary, Leon. He's quite possibly the only person worth more to her than I am." Arthur finally looked up, straight at Gaius. "Don't you agree, Gaius?"

Confused by Arthur's accusing tone, Gwen looked over at the old physician. Arthur couldn't be sending that suspecting glare at _Gaius_, could he? But when the old man's face lit up with a startled guilt, Gwen was again lost for words.

What in the world was going on?

"…Yes, Sire." Gaius started, slowly and cautiously. "I was thinking the same thing."

Gwen glanced back and forth between the two of them. By their guarded expressions, it was clear the pair knew something that the rest of them didn't. It saddened Gwen that her husband hadn't chosen to confide in her with this obviously upsetting information, but now was not the time. Her friend was in danger, so whatever Gaius and Arthur were hiding would have to wait.

"All right," Gwen interrupted the stare-down with surprising confidence, "let's say Morgana has him. How does that help us? We haven't the slightest clue where to find her."

It was Leon who spoke next. "Actually, my lady, that isn't entirely true." He gave a nervous glance towards Arthur. "We have several informants who claim to have spotted a knight of Camelot fleeing to the Mercian boarders, towards a rundown fortress in the east. If we're to assume it was Mordred, and that he is regrouping with Morgana, it is the most likely place to find her."

"All right, then." And there was Gwaine, standing up as if he intended to go off looking for Merlin at that exact moment. Which, Gwen thought, he probably was. "It's settled."

"Now hold on, Gwaine—"

"I don't see why I should." His tone seemed playful enough, but the defiance in his eyes said otherwise.

Leon gave him a sturdy look. "You know I am as fond of Merlin as you are, Gwaine," at that, Gwaine gave him a look that said he very much doubted that, "but we can't risk it. We know practically nothing of Morgana's achievements from the past few months. For all we know, she could have an army of men at her disposal."

After a few seconds of tense silence, all eyes turned to Arthur. He was ultimately the final decision maker, after all. The problem, unfortunately, was that the king refused to interact with the group. He and Gaius were still locked in what seemed to be a staring match—Arthur, eyes narrowed and searching, and Gaius, shoulders tense in anticipation. Gwen saw a look on the old physician's face then, one she had never seen there before.

He was _pleading_, she realized. Pleading with Arthur. For what, exactly, she couldn't be sure. But if she had to guess, it more than likely had something to do with a certain blue-eyed servant.

Whatever it was, they didn't have time for this. Gwen knew Arthur was still reeling from betrayal—and her heart hurt for him, it did—but his attitude towards his friends was inexcusable.

Carefully but firmly, she reached for his hand. "Arthur," there was a sensitive command in her voice that only Gwen could pull off. "You need to make a decision. Tell us what to do."

He held his gaze with Gaius for one rigid moment longer, and then dropped it with a sigh. "I know."

He looked at her then, and for the first time she saw the vulnerability in them, the sadness and the confusion. "I know," he said again.

Arthur looked back at his men, and in an instant he was the king again, confident and determined. "All right," his voice boomed throughout the room. "This is what we're going to do."

* * *

A/N: Anyone have a guess about what Arthur plans to do? … Because I don't.

;P That's not entirely true. I know where I want to go with the story, it's just taking my brain a bit longer than expected to figure it out fully. Sorry if my updates are a little sporadic from here on out. Please review ^^


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Hello again ^^ So, I forgot to mention a little info about the whole seven/five years bit in the last chapter. My story takes place a few years after the fourth season ended, so I figure Merlin has been in Camelot for about seven years now, and since Morgana turned on them in the second/third season, I'd say she's been trying to kill them all for around five years. Make sense? Good. Anyway, I'll stop talking now. Enjoy.

Edit: I lied. I'm still talking. Just wanted to tell you guys that I pulled a little scene from the show back in season 2 (The Nightmare Begins), just in case you get confused.

_Now_ I'm done.

* * *

Gwen's heart clenched as she watched her husband ride out of the safety of the castle walls.

Just hours ago, Gwen wasn't sure if Arthur was stable enough to fully dress himself. Now, he was riding off on a rescue mission. A possibly suicidal one, at that.

Not for the first time, she prayed that the king's sudden change in attitude was not the result of some kind of emotional breakdown. It was clear that Mordred's betrayal had taken a toll on him. That much would be expected of any man in Arthur's position. But how much had he been affected? Gwen couldn't be sure.

Arthur had recovered quickly enough—or seemed to have, at least. In an instant, he was as regal and confident as his typical, kingly self. He spoke firmly, and gave his orders swiftly. He no longer sat hunched over in his chair, but instead stood tall, his shoulders back and his chin held resolutely in the air. He looked, well, like a king should. And still, Gwen was not convinced.

And neither were his knights.

Because despite all of Arthur's supposed confidence, there was an air about him that was… off. It wasn't just his all-too-sudden transition from a grief-ridden man into a stern king. Nor was it his secretive attitude with Gaius, which presumably had something to do with the currently missing Merlin. No, it was a bit of both of those things, combined with the fact that Arthur's plan—the plan he and his knights were currently carrying out—was certifiably crazy.

When the king suggested his idea, all eyes fell on him. It was so unlike Arthur, so completely reckless and uncertain. Even Gwaine, who had been adamant about going after Merlin, looked at the king as if he'd grown a second head. After a few beats of shocked silence, the room promptly erupted.

Leon and Elyan were the first to try and dissuade Arthur, pointing out the strategic faults of his plan. Gwen didn't attempt to hide her concerns, the worry clearly written on her face. Even Percival, as soundless as he usually was, voiced his uncertainty. Only Gwaine and Gaius stayed quiet, choosing to watch on in silence.

And yet, Arthur wouldn't budge. He was completely set in his goal—and every soul in that room knew that when Arthur Pendragon made up his mind, it would be hell to get him to change it.

And so, there Gwen stood, watching her husband ride off on another one of his risky missions. And still, she couldn't help the ghost of a smile that formed on her lips.

Because despite everything—despite the king's recklessness and the dangers of the overall situation—Arthur was just being… well, Arthur. No other king would ever take the risks that he did—and for a servant, no less.

He may be reckless, but if Arthur was one thing, he was certainly courageous. And Gwen wouldn't have him any other way.

* * *

Morgana sat in one of the vast empty rooms that now served as her residence. She occupied what she assumed was a throne chair—or the relics of one, at least—which was now splintered and falling apart.

Her ruined surroundings didn't discourage her, though. Morgana was well aware of the fact that one day soon, she would have her own castle. One that was not rotting away and abandoned. One that was rightfully hers to begin with. The witch gritted her teeth when her thoughts wandered back to the reason why she didn't already have it in her grasp.

Merlin.

It had been three days since the warlock's capture. When she learned of his identity—his _real _identity—Morgana was consumed with rage. Not even Mordred could calm her down. She told herself capturing him was the logical thing to do. After so many years of being plagued by the curse named Emrys, how could she give up the opportunity to strike him down? But if she was honest with herself—something she chose not to do, at the time—she knew deep down what her ambush was about.

* * *

"_Then you believe me?" Came Morgana's shaky question. Her mouth quivered as she stared pleadingly at the man who stood before her._

_She had gone to Merlin when the… "incidents" started. She didn't want to believe it was magic, but she couldn't deny it any longer._

_The nightmares—visions, more like, for they always came true—that tormented her while she slept. Her curtains catching on fire, with no stimulus whatsoever. And that feeling. That feeling that spread through her like the warmth of a hot drink during the coldest of nights. _

_She looked up at the servant, her eyes wide in fear. He looked hesitant, but something about his expression told Morgana that he _did_ believe her, that she wasn't just making this up. _

"_You think it's magic, too." He said nothing, but the look in his eyes was confirmation enough. "Please, Merlin, I just need to hear someone say it so I don't have to keep feeling like I'm imagining it."_

_She was so afraid. She didn't know what to do. If anyone found out about this… if _Uther_ found out about this, she'd surely be killed. She just needed someone—anyone—to see her for who she really was, and not look at her like she was some sort of monster. If anyone would do that, it was Merlin… right?_

_But the welcoming embrace that Merlin's eyes usually held was not there. Instead, it was replaced by a guarded look, one filled with doubt and suspicion. _

"_I really wish there were something I could say."_

_And that was that. It was an end to the conversation, she realized. He was shutting her out._

_If Merlin couldn't trust her, who would?_

_Grief in her eyes, Morgana turned and left._

* * *

She hated him. With every ounce of being in her body, she hated him.

He could have said so many things at that moment that would have made it better. He could have trusted her, the way she trusted him, with the truth. He could have _told her_.

But he didn't. He said nothing.

In a sick sort of way, it was funny, really. Everyone called her a traitor—a betrayer of her kin. But if anyone was the traitor, it was Merlin. He betrayed his own kind—men and women he related to, who suffered the same way he did—for an arrogant fool of a king. Merlin had an enormous supply of magical energy somewhere in that skinny rail of a body, and he used it to protect _Arthur Pendragon_, the son of a man who persecuted their people, slaughtering them like animals.

As inexcusable as it was, Morgana forced herself to calm down. Camelot would not be Arthur's for much longer, anyway.

The witch was pulled from her musings when a burly looking man—one of the many henchmen she'd acquired—came stalking up to her. When he inclined his head, she waved him off, giving him her silent permission to speak.

"My lady," he seemed a bit nervous, shifting a bit in his place. But really, that wasn't too strange, considering who sat before him. "I have come to inform you of a… visitor."

Morgana narrowed her eyes. "Well? Get on with it. I don't have all day."

The man swallowed. "It seems your council has been requested… by the king of Camelot."

For the second time in the past week, Morgana's mind completely blanked. It was as if the men in her life were trying to confuse her. First, Mordred tells her that Arthur's idiot of a manservant was actually Emrys, an almighty warlock of prophecies. Now, her most valuable rival to the throne showed up on her doorstep.

"… He's here? At this very castle?"

"Yes, my lady."

It had to be a hoax, a trick of some kind. No man in his right mind would come to her here, in her own territory, especially not Arthur Pendragon. Surely her brother wasn't _that_ stupid. But as the room's great doors opened, and Morgana spotted the familiar red and gold cloaks of a Camelot convoy, she was forced to reconsider.

Apparently, he _was_ that stupid.

As Arthur's party reached her, they slowed to a stop in the center of the large room, faces serious but alert. Morgana herself had an amusing look on her face. Her mouth was open slightly, gaping, but the corners of her lips still turned up in a sort of smirk. Her eyes narrowed, as if questioning what she was seeing, and her head was quirked to the side.

For a moment, all was quiet.

But Morgana couldn't pass up this wondrous opportunity to prod at her bother. "Tell me something, Arthur." She spoke slowly, her voice full of malicious delight. "Are you completely mad?"

"We've been wondering the same thing." A knight—Gwaine, she assumed—muttered from behind him. Arthur shot him a half-hearted glare, and then refocused his attention on his sister.

"It has come to my attention that my useless manservant has gone missing."

Morgana raised a dark eyebrow. "I hardly see how that has anything to do with me, Arthur."

"It has everything to do with you." The king's eyes narrowed, and for the first time Morgana saw the hostility in them. "I know you have him, Morgana. I've come to you today to demand his release."

The witch watched her brother, her smirk never once faltering. After a moment of tense silence, Morgana spoke. "I have to say, I'm surprised that you care so much. He's just a servant, after all… so why go through all the trouble?"

There was a small smile on Arthur's face then, but his voice held no humor. "_Someone_ has to clean my dirty socks."

"Yes, but I'm sure there are plenty of other rats in that castle who are just as incompetent and useless as Merlin. So I'll ask you again," her eyes narrowed, a thought already forming in her mind, "why do you care so much for one lowly servant?"

The two siblings stared at each other then, neither backing down in their silent battle.

Finally, Morgana sighed. "Fine. I don't really care either way. There is a more important question that should be answered first, isn't there?" Her smile widened then, the mischief clearly written on her face. "How exactly do you plan on getting him back?"

Arthur didn't miss a beat. "By force, if necessary."

Morgana actually laughed out loud at that. "By _force_? Have you learned absolutely nothing from our past battles?" She rose from her chair then, her chin held high in defiance. "There is only one force here, Arthur, and you're looking at her."

Morgana pointed towards the knights, five or six of them, who stood behind their king. "Is this the entirety of your convoy?" Arthur said nothing, which Morgana took as confirmation. "Then you and I both know that I could take you down in a heartbeat."

Morgana's spite didn't stop there. "But why get my hands dirty when I have my own pawns to do it for me?" She twisted her head to the side. "Guards!"

At her call, at least twenty men came bursting through the door, surrounding the king and his entourage on either side.

"… I think she has a few more goons than you realized, princess."

Arthur huffed. "Thank you, Gwaine." He managed to look both annoyed and wary at the same time. "I figured that part out on my own."

"And there's more where that came from, so don't think for a moment that you have a chance." With a snap of her fingers, Morgana had the men restrained. "Really, Arthur. What did you think would happen?"

Arthur watched his sister, the look on his face a mixture of contempt and sadness. As one final taunt, she leaned in towards her brother. "I hope you taught that queen of yours a thing or two about warfare, brother. She's going to need it."

And with that, the knights were led out of the room and towards the dungeon cells.

Morgana knew taking over Camelot would be easy with Merlin out of the way, but she had no idea her idiot brother would make it _this_ easy. She could see her future clearly, now—in more ways than one. Her dreams were becoming reality.

What the gleeful witch _didn't_ see, however, was her brother's hand snatch a key off an unsuspecting guard's belt.

* * *

Merlin was weak.

The warlock sat against the cold stone, drifting in and out of consciousness. The seals on the rocky walls were effective enough—extremely so. They were designed to block a sorcerer's magic—that much was clear—but he suspected that not even Morgana knew what the wretched markings did to him.

A normal sorcerer would only be rendered unable to use his magic, but then again, Merlin was no normal sorcerer. His magic was a part of him—an extension of his being—and so the seals not only stopped his magic, but slowly absorbed it.

It was killing him.

He wondered if he should tell Morgana the next time he saw her, but quickly dismissed the thought. It was quite likely she would be thrilled to hear of what the "specially made" cell was doing to him. She'd probably just rub it in his face with more of her snarky insults while she watched him die. And if she didn't—if for some reason she didn't want the cage to kill him—it would be because she had other plans in store for him. And Morgana's plans were never a good thing.

He could either have Morgana keep him barely alive in constant torment, or Merlin could choose to escape her grasp of his own volition.

For Merlin, it really wasn't that difficult a decision.

At that thought, a sad smile played on the warlock's lips. What he didn't know was that in a few short seconds, that resolve would crash and burn, replaced with the familiar panic he got whenever his own life wasn't the only one on the line.

Shuffled footsteps echoed throughout the damp cave, and to Merlin's surprise, they stopped at his cell door. _Huh, _thought Merlin._ Maybe Morgana's actually going to feed me today._

When his barred door finally creaked open, Merlin half opened his eyes, not yet caring about his visitor. But when he saw that the guard was holding a _man, _and not his dinner, his interest peaked, and he chose to put forth the extra effort to open his eyes the rest of the way. Interest soon turned to horror as Merlin realized he recognized the man's golden head and authoritative posture.

_Good gods_, thought Merlin. _Even as he's being shoved around by a thug, he still walks like he owns the place. Prat. _

But this couldn't be right. There's no way. It had to be a trick of some kind. Morgana was just playing with him—messing with his mind in another one of her cruel games. There was no possible way in hell that it was—

"_Arthur_?"

The thuggish man threw his king in the cell, whose hands were cuffed behind him. As the barred doors once again slammed shut and the guard stalked away, Arthur shuffled his way over to the opposite wall to Merlin and sat down against it.

Merlin stared at his king. His mind was still trying to process the fact that he was here, as well as the implications that came with it. The two watched each other in silence, neither saying a word. Unbeknownst to the both of them, the two men were replaying their last meeting in their minds, and the emotions that came with it.

Finally, Merlin spoke.

"You came."

Arthur's eyelids flickered slightly, but he otherwise stayed completely still.

"I did."

Another long pause. Merlin wondered how much longer the king would look at him like that. It made his heart hurt, though he didn't know why.

"Well, no offense, Sire," Merlin started again, in a sad attempt to lighten the mood, "but if this is a rescue mission, you're doing a fairly poor job at it."

Arthur smiled at that, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Don't count me out just yet, Merlin."

At that, the warlock raised an eyebrow at his friend, but said nothing. As the silence stretched on, Merlin was reminded of how much he missed background noises—the scuffling of the servants who ran about the castle, or Gaius's mumblings to himself as he worked. Anything but this silence, this quiet that pierced Merlin's heart.

"I'm sorry, Arthur." He had to say it. He had to say it before the silence killed him. "If it weren't for me, you wouldn't be in this mess."

Arthur stared at him, his face almost blank with apathy. Which was why Merlin was surprised to hear a joking tone in his king's voice.

"You _have_ given me a lot of trouble these past few months, haven't you?" Again, there was the sad attempt at humor. They really had to stop it, Merlin decided. It was only making things more awkward. Looking at Arthur, you could tell he was troubled. Merlin wondered if the king even _had_ a plan, coming here to Morgana's territory, seemingly alone and without backup.

Merlin took a shaky breath.

"I'm sorry." He said again. "For everything. For all of the lies—" Arthur turned away then, the hurt finally showing through that mask that had never fooled Merlin to begin with. "I know that's what hurt you the most, more than anything else. I've always known."

It was true. Somewhere during the years that Merlin served Arthur, he realized that—should Arthur choose not to forgive him—it would ultimately be because of the lies. Arthur's relationships were built on trust. It was a fundamental element for him, something that could not be left out.

"But those lies—however hurtful—are the reason you are alive today." Merlin's eyes were intense, pleading with a king who wasn't even looking at him. "And I will _never_ apologize for that."

Arthur's eyebrows were furrowed, and the corners of his mouth turned down. It wasn't a look of anger, as one might expect, but one of pain.

They sat like that for several minutes, thinking about trust and truths and other matters that were far too troubling for there own good. As Merlin tried to stay conscious, he was surprised to realize that his guilt was slowly turning into another emotion—one less dejected and more hostile.

Anger. He was angry.

It wasn't full blown—more like an itching irritation. What surprised him was not the fact that he was irritated, but rather _who_ he was irritated at.

What was the bloody prat doing here in the first place? Didn't he realize that this is the last place Merlin wanted him? Maybe that was Arthur's goal, then. To irritate him, as revenge for keeping his magic secret. But that wasn't right, either. Even before Arthur found out about his magic, it was like the man knew instinctively that it was Merlin's job to protect him, and therefore had to make it _that much_ harder by nearly getting himself killed.

Didn't Arthur realize he was far too important to Merlin to die?

"Really, Arthur." The king seemed surprise when Merlin broke the silence, especially considering the warlock's tone. "Did you even have a plan?"

Merlin had wanted to sound bothered—angry, even—but for some reason he ended up smiling instead.

"Don't you _ever_ listen, Merlin?" Arthur met Merlin's smile with his own, and Merlin was happy to see that, this time, it reached his eyes as well. "I told you not to count me out just yet."

Before Merlin could ask what the king meant, he heard the _clank_ of metal cuffs hitting the stony ground. In an instant, he was off the floor, gesturing Merlin towards the door with the keys dangling in his hand. "Come on, it's time to go."

Merlin didn't argue. In a few seconds, the door was open, and both ex-captives were out of the holding cell. And _gods_, did it feel good to be out of there. Now that the seals weren't confining Merlin's magic, it flowed freely back through his body.

As they maneuvered through the foreign castle, Merlin felt his apprehension return. Even if they were out of their prison, and Merlin's energy was restored, it would still be difficult to escape the castle unseen. Through one of the… "conversations" that he'd had with Morgana, he learned that she'd acquired a dangerous arsenal of men from all over the lands. Particularly places that weren't too fond of King Arthur of Camelot.

"… Where are the others?" Came Merlin's tentative whisper. "Surely you didn't come alone."

"No, I didn't." There was a vague smirk hidden somewhere in his voice, which Merlin hoped was a good thing. "The knights were captured at the same time I was, but they should have been rescued by now."

Merlin's brow furrowed. "Rescued? What do you mean?"

In front of him, Arthur stopped. They'd made it to one of the outer halls, where the castle's decay was much more prominent. Arthur turned toward a large hole in the wall, and gestured to the clearing below. Merlin followed his king's gaze, and looked down.

At first, Merlin only saw Morgana's henchmen, running around like the castle was on fire. Looking closer, though, he saw that wasn't quite the case. They were _battling._ Someone was attacking the castle. But to Merlin's surprise, he didn't spot the familiar red cloaks of the knights. What he did see… were magic users.

Sorcerers.

And druids, too. Many, many druids. There had to be at least fifty of them, all wearing different styled clothing—they must not be from one camp, then, but from _several_ camps spread throughout the entire kingdom. But how…

"Apparently, they consider Emrys an extremely valuable ally."

Merlin looked back at his king.

It was Arthur. _Arthur did this_. He must have gone from camp to camp, rounding up any help he could find. And it couldn't have been easy—the druids were a peaceful people, after all. He'd resorted to _magic_. And to find Merlin, of all people.

Merlin watched his king with a steady gaze.

"And you, Arthur?" The warlock took deep breaths, trying to keep his voice leveled. "Do _you_ consider him a valuable ally?"

Arthur's eyebrows drew together, his gaze still cast down at the mayhem below. His lips were pressed together. After a pause, he spoke. "I don't know him well enough to answer that question."

Merlin quickly turned his head back towards the ongoing battle, if only to hide the wetness in his eyes. _It's all right, _he thought to himself, in a vain attempt to calm down. _What else did you expect, really? At least he didn't leave you to die._ Yes, it would be fine. He would be fine. Everything would be fine. He might gain Arthur's trust back eventually… right? It would just take some time—

"Now, _Merlin_, on the other hand," the king cut off his servant's inner ramblings, "he would be hard to live without."

Slowly, the warlock turned his head back towards Arthur. He felt the tears prickling at the back of his eyes even more now, but for an entirely different reason than before. Merlin wondered what his face looked like. If he had to guess, though, it was probably pretty comical, because when the king finally glanced over at him, his face turned pink.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, Merlin," Arthur turned to walk down the hall again, sounding annoyed and a bit flustered. "You're still a _complete_ idiot."

With a smile on his face, Merlin ran after his king.

* * *

A/N: Holy mother of… how did that happen? I fully expected this to be one of my shortest chapters yet, and somehow it turned into the longest. I don't even…

But anyway. So I think Morgana's POV was a tad bit scattered and choppy, but it was sort of intentional. I was going for the whole distraught, angry witch thing.

It turns out I did get this chapter in on time. Yay, me! But I'm sorry to say that the next one might be a little late. I'm going on vacation this week. Don't worry, I'll still try to get the chapter up as soon as I can. But yeah… dad gets angry when I ignore the beach for my computer—which happens every vacation—and then threatens to throw my laptop out of the window—which he says every vacation. Still, I worry one of these times he'll actually do it ;P Thanks for reading. You guys are the best.


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